


Consultation hours

by IAmNotOneOfThem



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Dadsona was a soldier, Depression, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mentioned Amputation, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prosthesis, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11949933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotOneOfThem/pseuds/IAmNotOneOfThem
Summary: Darin (Dadsona) goes to the church's anonymous consultation hours because he is at the end of his rope. Joseph Christiansen tries to help him. In the process, he might end up helping himself too...





	1. Chapter 1

“So I, um, I’ve never done anything like this before. Still don’t see the fucking point—ah, sorry, you’re not supposed to curse in churches, right? I’m… I’m not religious, so if this service is only something actual members can use, let me know and I’ll fuc—go. This probably isn’t how you’re supposed to start. What was it? Forgive me father, for I have sinned, or something?”

A deep chuckle catches me off-guard and I curse. “I’m sorry,” the deep voice says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I take a few deep breaths and fiddle with the zipper of my jacket. Once I stop feeling like the walls of the box are closing in on me, I focus on the faint outline of the other person, barely visible through the wall that separates us two.

The man clears his throat. “Even though we are using the confessional box, it’s not a confession and I’m not a priest. The effort is appreciated, though.”

Something about his voice slowly makes me relax, probably how calm he sounds. I lean back in my seat, folding my hands in my lap.

“To answer your questions in the right order,” the man continues. “You’re not supposed to swear in churches, you’re right about that, but you seem nervous, so it’s understandable. And no, you do not have to be religious or a member of this church to come talk to me. I want to help everyone, Christian or not. Your religious affiliation doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you came here to talk about something and I will try my best to help you with whatever that is.” The man paused. “I totally forgot to introduce myself. My name is Joseph and I am a youth minister. Are you comfortable with giving me your name?”

I don’t reply, but he doesn’t seem to take my silence as rude.

“Rest assured that anything you say will stay between us. I may not be a priest, but I take the oath of secrecy very seriously. Now, I said before this isn’t a confession, but the rules still apply. Even if you admit to a crime, I will not tell a soul, I promise. If it would make you feel more comfortable, you can give me a wrong name or a nickname? The whole purpose of this—” He gestures to the wall between us. “—is to grant you as much anonymity as possible. It can be hard to talk to strangers, but maybe less so when they don’t know who you are. I’d simply like to have something to call you.”

I look down at my hands and think about it. Finally, after a few moments of silence, I nod. “You can call me Houdini.”

Joseph laughs lightly. “Are you a wizard?”

“Something like that.”

My tone makes Joseph stop laughing. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

“None taken.”

I can see him relax a little, but the man still sits upright, like he has a stick tied to his back or shoved up his arse. I wonder what he looks like; before hearing him speak, I thought the priest-or-whatever would be an old man, but he sounds like he could be anywhere between thirty and fifty.

“What brought you here today, Houdini?”

I can’t help myself and snort. Not because it is a stupid question, but because I find it funny how a seemingly innocent question could be so loaded. I look back down at my hands and clutch a fist, just to feel my muscles tense under my skin.

“I don’t know, honestly,” I say after a while. Joseph doesn’t press me to continue or asks me why I am here, then, just lets me sort my thoughts and bring them into an order that somewhat resembles coherence. “Someone suggested I go see a professional, pay some prig with two doctorates and a cosy little office to listen to my problems and blame everything on my daddy issues, but there’s no way in hell— Can I say that?”

“Go ahead. I won’t judge you for what you say.”

I nod and run a hand through my hair. It’s getting too long again. I know I should go to a barber, but the mere thought makes me feel sick. Belatedly, I realise I’ve gripped my hair hard enough to hurt. I lower my hand and try not to think of Joseph watching my every move.

“I… um… I don’t like talking about… stuff. I don’t see the fucking point. You sit there, pour out your heart, and that’s supposed to make you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“You’re being paid to say that. Your opinion doesn’t count.”

Joseph makes a noise that sounds like when someone tries not to laugh and ends up snorting, but stifles that sound by covering their mouth and nose. I risk a glance to the side and see him lower his hand again. “Actually, I’m not being paid for this.” That makes me frown. “I’m doing this in my free time.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do? No wife and kids to go home to?”

His chair creaks as he shifts. “Ah. Yes. But…” I can tell he is uncomfortable, even though he tries his best to hide it. Maybe, had I seen his face, I would have fallen for it, but all I have is his voice and it sounds off, strained.

_Well-done, asshole._

I open my mouth to apologise or continue where I left off while ignoring my comment, but he speaks up before I can get a word out. “Whenever we bottle up our feelings and refuse to let them happen to us, we make things worse. At one point, we cannot continue burying them somewhere at the back of our mind because there is no space left and they all come out at once, a metaphorical dam that breaks. By talking about what we are feeling, we allow our emotions to come and go again. It is like a wave.”

He actually makes a wave motion with his hand as he says this. I can’t tell whether I should find it adorable or disturbing and choose to settle for the neutral interesting.

“So, yes, pouring your heart out indeed does help. That’s what you came for, isn’t it? To talk to someone. So, somewhere inside you, you must believe it might help you with whatever you are going through.”

What Joseph just said makes sense, but that only makes me want to find a counterargument even more.

 _‘We never get angry just because. Anger always is a follow-up reaction, never the first. You argue because you don’t want to deal with what you really feel. You butt heads with people because you want to distract them from what’s going on in your head. You don’t know how to deal with the situation, so you default to anger. But behind that anger there lies something else…’  
_ I jerk and shake my head to push that memory back into the dark corner it came from.

“Why did you come here, Houdini?”

_That's the one-billion-dollar question, isn’t it?_

I sigh in frustration and clutch a fist, feeling my blunt nails dig into my skin. The not-quite-pain helps me focus. I take a deep breath and tuck loose strands of hair behind my ear. “I came here,” I begin, “because it’s the last thing I can think of. I tried self-help books, even bought some guide by an apparently very famous guy, but the tips were complete bullshit. I scrolled through online forums but reading about how other people managed to get their lives under control again just made me feel shittier, because if they did it, why can’t I? I drank the most disgusting tea I had ever tasted in my life because it was advertised as the best herbal sleeping aid on the market and I’m not allowed to mix the good stuff with my medication, not even the over-the-counter shit you can buy from every in-store pharmacy in the whole country. So, this is, basically, the last idea I have because I’d rather cut off another limb than go to a psychologist.”

I only realise what I just said when Joseph carefully repeats “Cut off **another** limb?”

I tense up again and my breath audibly hitches. I don’t see Joseph turn to look at me as much as I feel his gaze tear through the wall separating us and even though I don’t know this man, I can tell he is itching to get up and comfort me physically, but he doesn’t. He shifts on his chair. “Repeat after me: 4, 9, 2, 10, 5, 18. Can you do that, Houdini? 4, 9, 2, 10, 5, 18.”

I literally cannot breathe and Joseph wants me to count? Clawing at my throat to get air through the knot there that makes me choke, I stutter out the first three numbers, then pause and work my brain trying to remember the rest of them. By the time I say 18, my breathing has stabilised again and my vision has cleared. I blink away the last remnants of the panic attack and rub my throat. “What the-“

“The brain cannot focus on panicking and counting numbers out of order at the same time,” Joseph explains quietly. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard. All I know for certain is that most of the time it works. Are you feeling any better? I can get you something to drink if you want.” I shake my head. “I’m not going to make you tell me something you don’t want. But what you said… Are you purposely hurting yourself, Houdini?”

He sounds so concerned about a random stranger’s well-being, so worried about a man he doesn’t know, just being in his proximity makes me feel like an even shittier person. I shake my head again. “I’m not… hurting myself. Not on purpose. I didn’t…” I make a cutting motion with my hand, since actually saying it is more than I can handle at the moment. “The… the doctors… you know. Surgery.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Houdini.” And he actually sounds sincere about it. _How can a person be this compassionate?!_ “As I said, you don’t have to tell me about it, unless it is important as to why you came here. Can you tell me what it is you are dealing with? There are thousands of guides out there and only half of them, if not less, are actually written by professionals. You don’t have to feel bad about not having found a method that works for you yet. Everyone is different and so are their problems and needs.”

“Are you sure you’re not a psychologist?”

Joseph laughs. “No, I swear. I’m not a—How did you put it? –prig with two doctorates and a cosy little office.” I can’t help but smile lightly at that. “Before you ask, I also didn’t take psychology in college. I have a Bachelor in Pastoral Ministry from the South Florida Bible College and Seminary.”

“Florida,” I repeat. “What brought you to Maple Bay of all places?”

“A fresh start, so to say. I was offered a job with the church. My wife and I fell in love with the neighbourhood and ocean view and so we settled down.” I can that was a very abridged version of the truth, but don’t pry. “Where are you from, originally?”

In any other situation, I might have taken offense at his words. But he cannot see me, doesn’t know the colour of my skin nor my name, so no, it can’t be that. “New York area.”

“Why did you come here?”

I shrug. “I got a scholarship to the college here. After I graduated, I… um… travelled, for a while. My husband and I actually met during college, he was from around here, and we just… stayed.”

Joseph is silent for a while before he speaks again. “Your husband…?”

The thought hits me so hard I almost physically flinch. “Fuck. You’re not homophobic, are you? I don’t want to presume, just because you’re religious, but if you are I’m—“

“Woah, woah, Houdini, I’m not homophobic!” My mouth clicks shut. Joseph turns to ‘look’ at me and shakes his head. “There is nothing wrong with being gay, bisexual, pansexual or any other sexual or romantic orientation. The man loves all of his children. Except snitches.”

I pause, uncertain whether the last part was serious or not. Only when Joseph chuckles I realise he was joking and I feel myself crack a smile again. _He seems pretty chill for a religious guy._ “Okay.” I clear my throat to bridge the time it takes my brain to come up with something better to say. “Cool.”

_Not better. Possibly worse. Cool is uncool already, do keep up._

 “What I meant with that question…” His voice softens. “Is your husband…” He makes some kind of gesture. It takes me a few moments to realise what he means.

“Dead? Yeah, he died a few years ago. But it’s okay.”

 _It’s not_.

“Still, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Can he stop sounding so sincere? Just hearing him be so compassionate and caring makes me feel bad just by being in his proximity. Couldn’t the church have hired a counsellor that didn’t make their customers shitty in comparison? It’s not like I didn’t already know I was fucked up, I didn’t need the perfect to show me that.

Neither of us speaks for what feels like hours, but realistically the silence only lasts for a few seconds before Joseph breaks it. “Since you said it’s okay, I assume you’re not here because of him. Do you want to tell me?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh deeply. I came here on a whim; I didn’t prepare some kind of speech or even stop to gather my thoughts and try to shape them into actual words before I drove to the church and walked in. I’m completely unprepared and I hate every second of it.

“There are days when I wake up and hate the fact I did.” Even I’m surprised by those words. “Sometimes I don’t have the energy to get up, not for food, not for the loo, not for my kid. Other days, the tiniest noise sets me off, and I feel like I’m right in the middle of a warzone. There are days I swear I can still feel my leg, even though I know it’s not there yet, they cut it off, they had to, but I still look down and pull up my trousers and see there is nothing there and that upsets me. I constantly feel like a ticking time bomb, like any second, I’m going to explode. I spent the time between panic attacks waiting for the next one to happen. Sometimes, I can’t sleep for days. Sometimes I get so irrationally angry I yell at anyone who tries to talk to me, even my own fucking child, and sometimes I stare into the mirror and hate myself so much I just…”

I ran my hand through my hair, gripping it tightly. The pain helps me focus. “I know you’re not supposed to bottle things up. They told us that message a thousand times. We’ve got professionals on site to help you, you can tell them anything, yet anyone who actually took advantage of that was seen as weak and they talked about you behind your back, made bets on how long you’d last. But I have to stay strong, for my daughter. She doesn’t know half of what I just told you. I don’t want to make life even more difficult for her. She’s strong, she dealt with losing her father far better than I have, let’s be honest, but she shouldn’t have to carry that burden. So I…” I take a shuddered breath. “I do my best to bury everything underneath layers upon layers of silly jokes and awkwardness. Before… I used to be like that, a long time ago, so I just have to remember how things had been back then and I can pass as a semi-functional quirky human being. No one knows. Well, now you do.”

Joseph exhales loudly. There is a certain tenseness to his voice as he finally speaks that makes me wonder. “That sounds terrible. I’m sorry you have to go through something like that, Houdini. You said you haven’t been to a doctor or psychologist at all?” I nod. “I would urge you to go see a professional, Houdini, because what you just described sounds very serious. Now, you mentioned ‘they’ and ‘us’. What is it that you do, or did, for a living?”

“I’m a software consultant. Before that I was a, well, I was in the military, after college. Part of the Reserve Officer Training Corps. They paid for my education, I served time after I graduated.”

“Were you…” Joseph trails off and I can practically hear the cogs and wheels turn in his head. “Were you ever actually deployed?”

“Yeah.”

“And did you lose— “

“Yeah.”

Next to me, behind the semi-transparent wall that lets me see the faint outlines of his body, Joseph rubs the back of his head. “Gosh, Houdini, you really deal with a lot of fudge-crab you had to endure.”

I snort. “Fudge-crab?”

“You have four children, you learn to get creative. I made it a habit not to swear even when they aren’t around, so I don’t accidentally do it when they are.”

For a moment I wonder whether I misheard him. “Four? You have four children? Who in their right mind gets more than twooooo… I mean—“

Joseph laughs. “Don’t worry about it, Houdini. I’m not offended. Four children are really quite a handful but I wouldn’t want to have any of them gone.”

“So did you have quadruplets or…?”

I see Joseph shake his head. “We have twins, but the other two were born alone. My eldest, Chris, is eleven. Christie and Christian, our twins, turn eight later this year and last but not least, there is Crish, he just turned two.”

I really try not to comment on the choice of names, but my brain short-circuits and my mouth moves before my brain can catch up. “You named your children after variations of Christ?”

“Crish’s name was my wife’s idea. To this day I’m still not quite convinced she wasn’t joking but I liked the sound of it. What is the name of your child?”

“Telling you would defeat the purpose of anonymity.”

Joseph titled his head in acknowledgment. “True. How about we call her Christiann?”

That startles a laugh out of me. I can’t help but giggle, imagining my daughter’s reaction once I get home and tell her what her new name is. “Why not Chrissie?”

“I have a long list of Christ-related names at home, Houdini. Anything from Christa to Chrys. If I were you, I wouldn’t challenge me to a silly name contest.”

“Oh god.” I snort with laughter. “Please, spare me, I surrender. I’m waving the metaphorical white flag.”

Joseph laughs with me. I can’t remember the last time I genuinely laughed like that, to the point of my chest starting to hurt. I want to say something to continue the easy barter between us, but the vibration of my phone against my thigh and the music I selected for incoming messages playing ruin the moment. I look down and fish it out, frowning at the screen. “Shit. I have to go. Um, thank you for listening to me vomit up words, Joseph, I… yeah, I appreciate it.”

“You know you can always come here whenever you need someone to talk to. My hours are posted at the blackboard outside of the building, right next to the door. I hope you’ll feel a bit better. What you did today is an important step towards getting better. You admitted to yourself you have a problem and you sought out help.”

I look down at my hands, then at the door. Should I just go? Or should I wait until he has left? What if we both exit at the same time and he ends up seeing me?

Either I thought out loud, again, or Joseph could anticipate my question. “I will stay in here until you have left. I promise, I won’t peek, I won’t jump out and go back on my word. I hope to see, well, hear you again, Houdini.”

Awkwardly, I nod, then I push open the door. I wait for the sound of Joseph standing up and pushing open his, but the youth minister is silent and doesn’t seem to move, so I walk out of the box and down the aisle towards the door.

I don’t slow down until I reach my car.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The ringing of the doorbell pulled me out of my thoughts. Groggily I lift my head and contemplate whether I should go answer it or not, but I could hear Amanda’s footsteps and, knowing she’s got it, buried my face in the pillow again.

It was a male voice, that much I was able to tell through the closed door, but I couldn’t hear what the person was saying. I caught the word ‘cookies’ and frowned, but didn’t think any more of it until the door to my room burst open and Amanda was standing there, a plate with cookies in one hand, a flyer in the other.

“Who was that?” I asked her, trying to muster enough energy to sit up.

Amanda shoved a cookie into her mouth and grinned. “One of our neighbours. He brought us cookies. They’re okay, if a bit too sweet.”

“What did he want?”

“He just wanted to say hello and introduce himself. He actually asked if the parents are home, I told him parent, singular, and he got all flustered. But I said you weren’t home. Didn’t think you wanted to deal with anyone right now.”

She sat down on my bed and I pulled her close, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Thank you, panda,” I said quietly.

She offered me a cookie and I gratefully accepted it. It was the first solid thing I had consumed in the last two days.

“And what is that?” I pointed at the flyer.

“Oh, that.” Amanda handed it over. “Apparently the neighbours here like to barbeque. We’re invited. All the families in the cul-de-sac will show up, he said, a perfect opportunity for getting to know everyone.”

She looked at me expectantly, the worry clear and visible in her eyes. I kissed her temple and smiled when she wrinkled her nose in mock-disgust.

“We’ll see, dear. Now give me more cookies.”

I put the flyer aside on my bedside table.

Hours later, when I returned to my bedroom, I found myself looking at the paper again.

I didn’t go to the barbeque.


	2. Chapter 2

“Um, now that I’m here again, I remember you didn’t actually tell me how I’m supposed to start. I know you said it’s not a confessional, but there has to be some kind of, I don’t know, opening I ought to follow. Forgive me not-father, I haven’t sinned, but I’m still feeling like shit and last time actually did help, so here I am again.”

There is no reply. After a few minutes of sitting surrounded by silence, I shift in my seat and look at my phone again. I took a picture of the poster Joseph had put up next to the door, since I was prone to forgetting such things as numbers, dates, _faces and names_ , and I’m definitely on time. I certainly wouldn’t have pecked Joseph as someone who was ever late.

Just as I start to think about leaving again, I hear footsteps hurrying towards the box. The next moment, the door to the other half is opened and in steps a familiar figure. “I’m so terribly sorry,” Joseph says. “I had to attend to some important matters at home. I hope you weren’t waiting for too long.”

He sounds out of breath, like he ran here, but there is also an undertone to his voice, a tension that would be easy to miss. Something tells me those matters at home weren’t of the nice kind.

I clear my throat and Joseph startles. The fact that our roles from a few weeks ago are now reversed makes me chuckle. “Hello, Joseph.”

I do not expect him to recognise me immediately, but he does. “Houdini!” _Wait, why does he sound relieved?_ “I was worried when you didn’t show up again, but part of me hoped that means you were finally doing better... How are you?”

“Well. In my improvised opening lines, I said I feel like shit, so…”

“Improvised… opening lines?”

Heat rushes into my cheeks. Suddenly, I’m very, very happy he wasn’t there to hear it. “Doesn’t matter.” I exhale shakily and rub the back of my head. Amanda cut my hair a few days ago. The edges are uneven, but it’s much better than the mess of too-long-hair I had before; it had reminded me too much of my time in hospital. “I’m… not good. At all. I can’t remember the last time I slept for more than two hours. Though to be fair, I kind of avoid sleeping, because of the nightmares.”

“What do you dream about, Houdini?”

I laugh dryly. “The stereotypical things. Shouting, crying, gunshots, bombs. The day I lost my leg. Blood. Smoke in my lungs. Do you smoke?”

“I used to,” he replies after a beat. Even as he says it, I can hear he isn’t sure whether he should even talk about it. “When I was young. But not anymore.”

“What made you stop?”

Joseph shifts in his seat. “My wife’s pregnancy. When she showed me the pregnancy test and it was positive, I threw away all my cigarettes and quit cold-turkey.”

“I smoked before the accident. Most people in my squad did. Helped you keep calm, kept the fears and the anxiety at bay, you know? I was bedridden for so long after they cut off my leg, I detoxed without meaning to. Once I was on my feet—“ I snort. “—on my foot again, I bought myself some cigarettes and wanted to smoke, but the scent and the taste… it brought me right back to **that day** , so I stopped for good. It’s kind of funny. My husband always wanted me to quit, said it’s bad for my lungs, and there I came back from duty and stopped.”

It isn’t funny, not one bit, but I still laugh. It’s the kind of self-deprecating, dark humour that doesn’t go well at parties and only makes things worse. Joseph doesn’t laugh along; I can see him look at me and can feel his concern even without actually seeing him.

“Not your kind of humour?”

Joseph chuckles. “What gave it away?” I don’t give a reply, but the question doesn’t need one anyway. When he speaks again, Joseph’s tone of voice is less carefree and more serious again. “Is there anything you can pinpoint that would explain why your mood dropped so drastically the last weeks?”

“I can only guess it’s the change of scenery. New neighbourhood, new faces… well, mostly.”

“What do you mean?”

I smile and flex my hands. “My old roommate from college now lives in the area, too, not so far away from my own house. It’s crazy. I haven’t heard from him ever since I was deployed and now we meet again, after so many years.”

Joseph’s silence lasts a touch too long. I frown and try to read him through the wall that separates us, but only seeing the outlines of his body, it’s practically impossible. “Something the matter?”

He jerks as if he’d been lost in thought and shakes his head. “It just reminded me of something I overheard in my neighbourhood, don’t worry about it.” He clears his throat. “Moving away from the environment you are familiar with, trying to make a life somewhere new, can be very difficult and stressful, even for people without your experiences. What I think could help you is to get out of your house and meet the people in the area. Forging new bonds of friendship might help you feel at home and that in turn might improve your mood. That is not to say all your problems can be attributed to how you feel, but what we do and who we surround ourselves with plays a large role in how much our problems affect us. If you don’t do anything to try and break free of that vicious cycle, if you keep doing the same thing over and over again, it’s only going to get worse. At the very least, it certainly won’t get any better.”

“Speaking from experience?” I find myself asking, because there had been something about the way Joseph said it that set off my Dad senses. _Trust your instincts_ , our sergeants had always told us, a lesson I keep close to my heart.

Joseph chuckles. Even someone without my people reading skills would have been able to tell it was fake. “No, unless we count counselling people whose situations improved after they did something.”

“Joseph,” I say, but then pause. It’s none of my business whether he speaks from experience or doesn’t; we’re here because I want him to counsel me, not the other way around. I shift in my seat and sigh. “Look, call me paranoid or something, but I feel like there are things that bother you, too, and if you are to be believed, then talking about your issues helps. You don’t know me, I know next to nothing about you, ‘s not like I could use whatever you told me against you. There’s clearly something going on with you. Wouldn’t it be kind of hypocritical if you didn’t listen to your own advice?”

The youth minister is silent. I can see him looking down at his hands, stiff like a stick, and wonder whether I took things too far. I’d always been blunt, direct; the military only made that trait of mine worse. If asked, I wouldn’t be able to tell how many times I had to do extra lapses because I stepped on my superiors’ toes.

I open my mouth to apologise, but Joseph beats me to it. “I’ll think about it.”

He sounds sincere about it, so I drop the topic.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Have you met any of the other neighbours yet?”

I stopped for a moment to stretch and rubbed my prosthetic leg through the fabric of my track pants. Craig came to a halt next to me, wiping the sweat off his forehead. It was still surreal to think that it was Kegstand Craig standing there, the same man who once drank a whole jar of marinara sauce and claimed it was a fruit smoothie. He was so much fitter, so much healthier now than he had been during their time in college and what rough edges had been there all those years ago were refined now. Both of them had changed so much. Whenever I looked at him, I remembered the man I used to be and something inside my chests constricts painfully.

“No.” I grunted out. “I always seem to miss them when I go out. But one of the neighbours dropped by and said hello the first day, though Amanda answered the door, not me.”

Craig chuckled. “I can guess who that was. Did he drop off an invitation for barbeque?” I nod. “That was Joe. He tends to invite us all at least once a month and let me tell you, the man makes a mean burger. Speaking of the barbeque, why didn’t you come to the last one?”

I paused mid-stretch, arms behind my head, and looked down at the ground. _Because the mere thought of leaving the bed and having to deal with people made me want to throw up_. I didn’t say that out loud. Craig might have noticed something about me was different since college, but no one went to war and came back unchanged, and a lot of time had passed. I saw no use in telling him about my problems sleeping, eating and _living_ ; I had the consultation hour with Joseph for that. _Why tell him about that, when you didn’t even tell him about your missing leg._  
“You know how it is. Amanda and I unpacked our stuff and tried to put everything where it belongs.”

Craig hummed. “Yeah, a house doesn’t feel like home with a dozen boxes standing around. I guess I’ll accept that reason this once, bro.” He nudged my shoulder with his fist and grinned at me. “But only if you promise to come to the next one. All cul-de-sac families show up there, even Robert Small.” There it was, that faint blush that always came whenever Craig talked about that mysterious neighbour. He hadn’t outright said it, yet, but I could tell he was crushing hard on that man. He might have changed since college, but the signs were still the same, and I had been there when he got together with Smashley.

I lightly kicked against his leg, then got back running. We were on our way back from our morning run and I could already see my house again. Joseph’s words rang in my ears. “ _If you keep doing the same thing over and over again, it’s only going to get worse. At the very least, it certainly won’t get any better.”_ I had to admit, ever since I accepted Craig’s invitation, I did feel a little bit better. The exercise helped tire out my body; most days, I managed to sleep after I came back. Not for long, but it certainly was an improvement.

We passed the house right next to mine, when a blond man in a pink shirt and brown khakis opened the front door and went to retrieve the newspaper. Craig waved at him and gave me a look that I interpreted as “That’s Joe”, so I waved too. Joe looked like he thought about approaching us to talk, but a voice calling from inside the house put a damper on his plan. He waved at us and turned to go back. For a moment, something akin to dread flashed over his face, but it was gone so quickly again, I might as well have imagined it.

I decided not to dwell on it and followed Craig up to his porch, where we decided on the next time we’d run together and exchanged our goodbyes. Limping slightly, I made my way back into the house. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was watching me until I closed the door behind me.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I didn’t know why the nightmares returned after leaving me alone for so long. My new routine with Craig had worked so well, part of me, that optimistic self Alex somehow managed to ingrain deep within my soul, had hoped they would never come back.

_You would be so lucky, huh._

I was up and on my feet before my brain could even register and send the urge to scream down to my vocal chords. Blindly, I searched for the nearest wall and used that to keep me upright. The wallpaper felt different, rough under my fingers, almost like stone or sand. When I opened my mouth to gasp for breath, I could taste sand on my tongue, sand and wind and blood. I wanted to scream, but my throat was too dry, not a sound came out.

_I have to get outside. Out. I need fresh air. Out—_

My body functioned on auto-pilot. I grabbed the nearest jacket and shrugged it on, pressing my cheek against the soft fabric that was so different from the army-issued uniform, it helped ground me. The last remnants of my nightmare were still echoing in my brain as I opened the front door and stepped out into the cold night. It was dark, except for the streetlamps that created little circles of light in a perfectly uniform spacing.

Panicked, I made it to the street before my legs gave in and I landed on my knees. My leg-stump protested, since the position made my prosthesis dig painfully into my skin. The pain only made things worse. Before my mind’s eyes flashed gunshots. I heard screaming, shouted orders and the distinct sound of an automatic rifle near me. All sound, however, is drowned out by the loud _boom_ of a frag grenade. Someone screamed. Belatedly, I _realise it’s me. I’m on my back and there’s blood, so much blood, and pain, my leg feels like it’s on fire, there are hands holding me down, someone is shouting orders, but all I can hear is my own, deafening scream._

_That is, until a voice breaks through the haze. Somehow, it sounds familiar, but I cannot put a finger on it. It is soothing, like the gentle caress of water, and takes away the flames that eat at my leg._

“Did you have a nightmare, neighbour?”

A beat. Two. Then I scrambled to my feet. Joe followed suit, hands anxiously hovering near me in case I would fall down again. The beating of my heart is so loud, I’m certain he could hear it too.

Numbly, I nodded, rubbing my face and wiping away my tears. I closed my eyes and lay my head back. For a few minutes, all I did was breathe. The taste of sand _~~and blood~~_ was replaced by that of the sea, mixed with something uniquely Maple Bay; my hands stopped shaking and my heartbeat slowed down. When I opened my eyes again, Joe was still standing there, watching me.

“I’m okay,” I croaked out. My voice was at least an octave deeper than it normally was, thanks to my silent screaming and crying. “Thanks.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I shook my head, then jerked it towards the pavement. He followed without a comment, even sat down next to me as I got comfortable in the grass. It was wet, _not hot and dry like sand_. “Why are you awake?”

Joe shrugged, his shoulder bumping against mine. “Couldn’t sleep. Perhaps because my instincts told me someone needed company.”

I snorted. The idea was so absurd, it might as well have been true. I had long ago given up on trying to understand the inner workings of the world. Otherwise, I might have gone crazy searching for a reason why me, of all people.

_You know why._

Neither of us said anything, but the silence was comfortable. An hour passed without a spoken word passing between us; half an hour later, as the first rays of sunlight emerged from beneath the ocean, Joe stood up and stretched. He offered me his hand; it was rough and calloused, spoke of strength that I wouldn’t have thought he possessed.

“If you ever need to talk to someone, you know where you can find me. Try to get some sleep, okay?”

I nodded and, instead of saying anything, gave his hand a squeeze. He turned and walked back into his house. I followed his example and returned inside, heading straight to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for Amanda.

As I stood there, making pancakes, a thought struck me. _Joe’s voice sounded awfully familiar._ I wrote it off as mistaken memories, which was better than accusing my mind of playing tricks on me, and forgot about it.

“Hey, ‘manda,” I said as I heard shuffling feet behind me. A moment later, she kissed my cheek and stole one of the pancakes from the plate.

“Morning, Dad. You awake already?”

“I fell asleep early last night.”

After the breakfast, while cleaning the pan, I happened to look out of the window, just in time to see Joe in his garden. Our eyes met. I smiled and waved. There was a strange feeling low in my belly as his face lit up and he waved back.

I dropped my eyes and checked my phone. I decided it was time to go see Joseph again, after what happened.


End file.
